The Rising Ashes
by the13thverse
Summary: "Get off my property before I have you arrested." He laughed a deep, throaty laugh. "Hate to burst your bubble but been there, done that." DeanOC (rated M for much later chapters, follows the entire plotline of the show from beginning to end)
1. Prologue

**Welcome all to the first installment of my Supernatural fanfic that will be my debut as a fanfiction authoress. I plan to make this story go on for a long, long time. It will contain an OC that I created (you won't be meeting her in this prologue), however the story will closely follow the canon plot line. I hope you all enjoy it! **

**Please give me feedback on how I'm doing. The world of writing fanfics is largely uncharted territory for me and I'd love to get outside opinions on my work.**

**- the13thverse**

******Title:** The Rising Ashes**  
****Author:** the13thverse**  
****Fandom:** Supernatural  
**Rating: **M (for later chapters that I will warn readers about in advance)**  
****Pairing:** Dean/OC**  
****Disclaimer:** I don't know Dean Winchester (Jensen Ackles), Sam Winchester (Jared Padalecki), Castiel (Misha Collins), or any of the other characters from Supernatural and the actors who play them. I don't claim any ownership over them and seek no profit through this work. I don't mean to cause harm, confusion or headaches. If any of the characters this story is about would like discuss future works, you know how to get in touch with me. Also, please don't sue me…I don't do well in jail and I have no money. Void where prohibited.

* * *

**Lawrence, Kansas  
****November 2, 1983**

Crickets chirped a chorus that echoed in the otherwise silent night. A large deciduous tree with no leaves stood proudly outside a small suburban home. Its branches were so thick that they could even cast shadows in the pitch black of night and yet they were discontented with their Earthy prison. They reached to brush the stars in the sky, always falling just a bit short and crying orange and red leafy tears in the November wind. However, without fail the tree would surely rise again and persevere in a few months time after a brief, cold, mourning period. That could be a metaphor.

Inside the home a woman, Mary Winchester, was carrying a small child, her 4-year-old son Dean, down the hallway into a dark-lit nursery. It was well past the child's bedtime, and Mary let out a tired yawn. It was well past her bedtime as well. Nevertheless she managed a weary smile for the eldest of her two boys, "Come on Dean, let's say good night to your brother."

She turned on the lights. The baby, Sam, was lying in his crib and looking over at his mother and older brother with fascination as Mary set Dean down. Dean leaned over the side of the crib and kissed his infant brother lightly on the forehead. This had become a nightly ritual in the Winchester household. Dean often wondered if it had been a nightly ritual to kiss him goodnight when he was Sam's age. "G 'night, Sam."

Mary leaned over the 6-month-old's crib as well as whispered a soft, " Good night, love," before brushing Sam's hair back and kissing his forehead.

From the doorway a man's deep voice gruff with years filled the room, " Hey, Dean."

At the sound of his own voice, the boy in question turned to face the door with an excited squeal. Sam hiccupped in his crib. The tall, hairy man in the doorway wearing a USMC T-shirt was none other than John Winchester. Dean rushed over to him. " Daddy!"

"Hey, buddy." John scooped Dean up in his arms. " So what do you think? You think Sammy's ready to toss around a football yet?"

" No, Daddy." Dean shook his head, laughing. If anything, Sam was smaller than a football. Dean was almost certain Sam would be a midget when he grew up, an absolute shorty no doubt.

John laughed, "No, definitely not."

Mary passed John and Dean on her way out of the room. "You got him?"

" I got him," John hugged Dean closer before turning to the crib, "Sweet dreams, Sam." John carried Dean out of the room, flipping off the lights. Sam watched them go, gurgling, then tried to reach his toes. They were begging to be played with and eaten. The baseball-themed mobile above Sam's crib began to spin on its own while Sam watched in wonder.

The transportation-themed clock on the wall ticked, ticked, and then abruptly stopped.

The moon-shaped nightlight flickered.

In the master bedroom, lights flickered on a baby monitor sitting on a nightstand next to a photo of Mary and John. Strange noises came through the monitor. Mary stirred from her sleep. She turned on the light on the nightstand and tried to wake her husband, " John?" She turned when she didn't get a response and found that she was alone in the queen size bed that she and John shared. She got up and walked down the hall to Sam's nursery. She stopped in the doorway. A tall silhouette stood bent over Sam's crib.

Rubbing her eyes she asked, "John? Is he hungry?" Her voice had been coated in fatigue. She had almost forgotten the feeling of waking up in the middle of the night to care for an infant. The head of the silhouette seemed to tilt towards her and shushed her in a low whisper. He must have just gotten Sam back to sleep. One less thing for her to do. Satisfied with the response she turned to go back to the comfort of her own bed while muttering a brief, " All right."

Heading back down the hallway, Mary noticed that a small light by the stairs was flickering. She frowned and tapped at it until the light steadied. With a intrigued humming sound she continued her journey back. She would have to remind John to take a look at the light in the morning.

From the top of the staircase Mary noticed a flickering glow coming from the living room along with the muffled sounds of what seemed to be gunshots. Taking a few steps down the stairs to investigate, she noticed that her husband was sprawled out on the couch. He had fallen asleep watching an old war movie that had been playing. But if John was there in front of the television then-

She bolted upstairs, "Sammy! Sammy!" She all but took the door of Sam's nursery off its hinges barging through and stopped short before letting out an ear-shattering scream as the door slammed shut behind her. John woke with a start.

" Mary?" He scrambles out of the chair. "Mary!" Running upstairs he burst through the closed door of the nursery.

The room was quiet and appeared empty except for Sam fully awake in his crib. "Mary?" Maybe the scream had all been part of a dream. John glanced around and pushed down the side of Sam's crib. "Hey, Sammy. You okay?"

Something dark dripped onto the pillow next to Sam's head. John touched it lightly. As soon as his finger made contact two more drops landed on the back of his hand. John looked up. Mary was sprawled across the ceiling, the stomach of her nightgown stained crimson red with blood. She was staring at John and struggling to breathe. Her eyes screamed at him in silent pain. They pleaded for her safety as well as the safety of her family. John collapsed onto the floor, staring back at his wife's mangled body. He felt his own blood run cold. "No! Mary!"

At the sound of his scream, Mary burst into a sea of flames. The fire quickly spread over the ceiling. John stood frozen in horror. Sam let out a loud wail. John, reminded he's not alone, scrambled to his feet, scooped his infant son out of his crib and rushed out of the room.

Dean, in a half-awake daze, came down the hallway to investigate. Opening the door to his little brother's nursery he let out a surprised shriek at his father shoved baby Sam into his small arms. " Daddy!"

His father's voice was commanding and unquestionable. "Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back! Now, Dean, go!"

Not paying attention to his sons' retreating forms, John faced the nightmarish nursery once more and let out yet another plea to the heavens. " Mary! No!"

The entire room was engulfed in red hot fire. Mary herself could barely be seen, still suspended from the ceiling at the epicenter of the flames.

Dean made it outside, holding Sam tightly in his arms as Dean collapsed to his knees in the yard just as he heard his father wail from inside the house. "It's okay, Sammy," he comforted the crying infant as best as he could with what little knowledge his four-year-old brain could conjure up about childcare. He turned to look up at Sam's window, lit with a brilliant red and gold glow. Dean's heart jumped at the sight of his father running outside let out a started yelp as John scooped them both up in his arms and hauled them across their yard in one quick motion. " I gotcha."

Mary was nowhere to be seen

Fire exploded out of Sam's nursery window.

* * *

The Lawrence fire department arrived moments later. A firefighter rushed out of the fire truck and took over at the gauges for his comrade.

" I got it. You go hold the line up."

The second firefighter went to the back of the truck to take a hose from a third firefighter. That firefighter took the hose towards the house where a fourth firefighter sprayed through Sam's nursery window. A paramedic opened the back of an ambulance. A police officer stood in the yard waving some neighbors away from the scene. " Stay back. You have to stay back."

Across the street from the house, John and Dean sat on the hood of John's Impala, John holding Sam. John looked up at the remnants of the fire. It was too late to save their home or the life of his Mary, but in that moment John Winchester swore an undying revenge on whoever, or rather whatever, had taken her from this world.


	2. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! So I managed to finish this chapter today as well. I was working on it the same time I was working on the prologue. Unfortunately I wouldn't count on all updates coming out this quickly, but I was really excited to get this chapter out so that you guys could be introduced to my OC, Penelope "Poppy" Miller.**

**This part takes place before John goes missing and Dean gets Sam from college, so it'll just be Dean and Poppy for a while, but I promise the other characters are sure to come.**

**Please let me know what you think! A review is like an ****interweb hug so please spread the love.**

**- the13thverse**

**PS. I won't be including the disclaimer from the prologue in any of the subsequent chapters because it's a hassle, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't apply to any of the other chapters. That disclaimer was for the entire course of the story.**

* * *

**Bloomfield Hills, Michigan  
****July 16, 2004**

"The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.  
He makes me lie down in green pastures,  
He leads me beside quiet waters,  
He refreshes my soul.  
He guides me along the right paths  
for His name's sake.  
Even though I walk  
through the valley of the shadow of death,  
I will fear no evil,  
for You are with me;  
Your rod and your staff,  
they comfort me.  
You prepare a table before me  
in the presence of my enemies.  
You anoint my head with oil;  
my cup overflows.  
Surely Your goodness and love will follow me  
all the days of my life,  
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord  
forever." (Psalm 23)

The psalm echoed throughout the church, bouncing off stone walls and silent statues that regarded the scene with apathetic stares. The priest's solemn voice blended with a chorus of choked sobs. Children too young to understand shifted in their pews and bounced impatiently. The sun shone deceptively bright through stained glass windows and reflected off the pair of closed wooden coffins displayed on the altar. Hidden inside the coffins lay two mangled corpses. Daniel and June Miller, aged 50 and 48 respectively, would never again rise to see the light of day.

Daniel had risen from the position of lowly unpaid intern to CEO of the Medicure Insurance Co. As a boy his family had struggled to make ends meet and Daniel had learned early on that quick wit and a charming smile made for good business. All-nighters face down in textbooks had earned him a full scholarship to Stanford. Curly brown hair and enchanting blue eyes had earned him June's heart. She was a young pharmaceutical researcher blowing off steam at a bar and he seemed to be a great one night stand that turned into a lifetime love. Together, the two of them had taken the pharmacy field by storm. It wasn't long before they married and began a family together.

Penelope "Poppy" Miller, age 20, rose from her seat and walked with leaden feet up to the podium to deliver her eulogy. The paper in her hand felt much too light to be appropriate. It seemed like a cruel joke to be asked to summarize the feelings she held for the people who had given her life and never-ending affection.

"My mother was a religious woman. She used to tell me that I could look to God for answers to all life's questions and we would pray together every day. As I grew older I stopped praying. I questioned my own faith and I could tell that my mother was disappointed. She would ask me why and I'd jokingly reply 'God's a busy man. I'm saving my favors for when they're most needed.'" She tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a choking sound. "I believe now that she and my father are in Heaven above watching over me, watching over all of us, and so now I'm cashing in all those favors for everything I never asked God for. I'm asking now for Him to watch over both of my parents, because I know they are too busy watching out for everyone else. That's just the kind of people they were. They were caring and generous and loving, and I'm sure that their souls are far too stubborn to allow even death to extinguish the fire of compassion that burned so brightly within them both."

_Stupid, that was so stupid_. The young girl mentally berated herself while making the journey back to her seat. _What were you thinking talking about your lack of faith in a church? And why did you talk about yourself so damn much? That was supposed to be a eulogy for your parents you dolt. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid_.

The funeral came to a close. Poppy had her fill of sympathetic shoulder pats and hugs. She felt empty. Staring at her parents' grave solidified her own mortality. Would she die in the next 20-30 years? She had often thought that if she had to die she would do so in her sleep, when she was 100 years old, after living a full and happy life with a family complete with grandchildren. The circumstances of her parents' death warped her life dreams. They hadn't even lived to see their only daughter be married let alone see the birth of grandchildren, great or not. They hadn't died in a comfortable sleep. Their mangled corpses gave testimony to a horrid and painful death that Poppy wouldn't have wished on her worst enemies.

She had been away at college when she got the call from the Bloomfield Hills Police Department informing her that her parents had passed away, but they hadn't passed away, they had been taken from her. It was just one case in a series of unexplained deaths that had been plaguing the area. There were no leads. Four couples had been killed already in the past month. All of them were middle-aged who lived alone and all had been brutally killed in the dead of night.

She returned to her parents' home just as the sun was slipping below the horizon. She had inherited everything upon her parents' murder, the house, the cars, and the fortune that her parents had built up over the years. What was a 20-year-old to do with a large pharmaceutical insurance company? A sophomore majoring in psychology at the University of Pennsylvania had little to do with such a business. She'd have to put one of the board members in charge of administration. Maybe Johnson, her father had always talked fondly of Johnson.

The house was too large and empty. Every step she took seemed to bounce back to her off of every wall, mocking her loneliness. She'd probably end up selling it and buying something cheaper. Her inheritance wasn't going to last forever. She'd use what she needed to pay for her education and who knew what would remain after that. Maybe with the house gone she'd move out to the east coast permanently to be near her school and her friends. At that moment no faces came to mind. Maybe she didn't have as many friends as she had thought. She'd probably get a cat.

When had she started crying? She raised her fingers to the pregnant tears running down her cheeks and falling on the pillows of her parents' guest bed. Planning out her new life had failed to distract her mind from the reality and gravity of the situation. Ironically this realization only increased the intensity of her sobs. Her parents had emancipated themselves from both of their families after they became fed up with the endless streams of requests to borrow money from the Miller's successful business. Even after providing the families with enough money to pay bills the couple had still felt greedy breaths on their necks and invisible fingers prodding at their wallets. Poppy started choking on her own breaths. She was absolutely, positively, indisputably alone in the world. She started hating her parents. How dare they keep her from the rest of her family. If they hadn't been so selfish and just loaned the money then she wouldn't be so alone. If they hadn't gone and gotten themselves killed she wouldn't be so alone. It was all their fault, all of it.

The sound of footsteps broke her out of her thoughts. Someone else was in the house downstairs. She grabbed the cordless next to the bed, ready to call 9-1-1 if she saw so much as a rat. Making her way down the stairs she could hear a male voice cursing to himself. A robber? A rapist? A serial killer? A serial killer rapist who would rob her?

From his position in from of the living room window she judged that his silhouette was about six feet tall, he had short hair of an unknown color, and he seemed to have a muscular build. If she was to engage him in a fight one-on-one there was no chance she could ever take him. She would have to get him by surprise if she had any chance of survival. She had light, small feet. Strength she had little, but she made up for it in stealth.

His back was turned and he seemed to be staring out the window at nothing in particular. Without thinking she brandished a weapon from the kitchen and the man went down with one good hit to the back of his head.

"Officer? Yes I'm still here. No, I'm ok. I knocked him out with a frying pan."

* * *

Dean Winchester had gotten out of more sticky situations than he could count. He wasn't all that surprised to awake in a hospital handcuffed to the bed to prevent an inevitable escape. He could have done without the throbbing pain that radiated from the back of his skull through his entire body. The house was supposed to be abandoned. He hadn't anticipated a sneak attack from behind, and certainly not from a human. It had to have been a human, non-humans generally don't call the cops after they attack you. Even so, he should have been more aware of his surroundings. He was lucky it was only a human that he had run into.

A groan escaped his lips as he opened his eyes and attempted to sit up. The room was too white and the lights were far too bright. If this was anything like what Heaven was like, purgatory wasn't sounding too bad. He attempted to shield his eyes, but his right hand was secured to the bed by a pair of silver handcuffs.

"So, you're finally awake?"

He turned to face a young woman sitting in a chair across his hospital room. She regarded him with a hard stare and a flat-lined mouth. He took a moment to take in her full appearance. She looked young, probably in her late teens, and no taller than 5'6. Her pin-straight blonde hair was tied back in a high ponytail with loose strands falling down in front of her blue eyes. Those blue eyes were slightly red and puffy and sat atop deep black bags. Under other circumstances she may have been considered pretty, but under the florescent lighting she just looked tired. Her pale skin seemed to reflect the light. She clearly hadn't been sleeping.

Nevertheless, a pretty girl was a pretty girl and all pretty girls deserved to be graced by the beauty that is the 'Hey, I'm Dean Winchester and yeah I do always look this good' smile. Her stare faltered for a moment but the girl was in no way amused.

"Don't try anything funny. Against the advice of the police I convinced them to let me talk to you before they do, but that doesn't mean that they can't be in here in less than one minute to haul your busted ass to the big house, and if need be I am _not_ afraid of beating you over the head again-"

"So you were the one who beat me over the head?"

"With a frying pan, yes."

"You're violent."

Her lips pursed together, her brow furrowing deep. "And you're a trespasser. You could have been a rapist for all I knew."

"Sweetie, I don't need to rape."

"I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation."

"You know, you have pretty blue eyes."

"Are you trying to be cute?"

"So you think I'm cute?"

She rose from her seat, "That's it, I'm out of here. Officer-"

"No, no, wait. I'm sorry ok? No need to bring in the big guns. Let's just talk. That's what you wanted right?" She paused and looked at him incredulously. "So you said you were the one who got me last night." It was his turn to pause. He was waiting for her to elaborate.

"Don't think of filing for assault charges. You were trespassing on my property and I have a right to defend myself."

"That's not your house. The people who own that property are dead."

"My parents," she hissed.

"Oh…"

"Yeah 'oh.' Now do you mind explaining why you were in _my_ home in the middle of the night?"

He had to lie. It had to be a good lie. This girl seemed to have a sensitive bullshit meter. If he gave her any reason to doubt him then she'd just walk out and the big burly cop man stationed outside the room didn't seem nearly as pleasant to have a conversation with. "You parents hired me to watch and maintain the house since they were too busy with work." Poppy raised an eyebrow and gave him a once over. Crap, she wasn't buying it. "It's for community service. I broke a window a while back. They said they wouldn't press charges as long as I did some odd jobs for them around the house."

Dean and Poppy engaged in a heated staring contest.

"….Officer!"

"Shit."

* * *

Michigan trespassing laws only got Dean a fine of $250. Paying fines was so much easier than being incarcerated, but it would take a bit of time to hustle enough stupid bastards to earn the money back. He was behind on his work after being detained, but he needed to get back into that house while the evidence was still fresh and he needed to do so despite the complete lack of trust from the house's only living resident while avoiding getting arrested a second time. Honesty wasn't always the best policy in his line of work. In fact, honesty was one of the worst. Too much honesty caused panic and fear, and nobody ever believed him until it was too late. Politicians understood; they lied all the time.

He parked his 1967 Chevy Impala outside of the Miller's substantial house. He knew this was one of the richest residential towns in the country filled with rich, hoighty-toighty bastards, so the house's size came to no surprise. Still he couldn't help but think that the girl from the hospital room had likely grown up pampered and sheltered like a little spoiled princess. He hated the bitch already. She assumed that just because he was a complete stranger who had broken in her house in the middle of the night that he was out to hurt her or steal her stuff. Materialistic people always thought that other people were out to steal their stuff. They're a paranoid class of people.

Lately, the area had been plagued with a string of unsolved murders. The victims had all been married middle-aged couples found dead in their homes. The police assumed it was the work of a serial killer, but Dean could spot an oddity from states away. The police had tried to keep a specific detail of the murders under wraps but the media had managed to get a hold of it and the news spread like wildfire. Despite the mangled state the couples had been found in, there was never any blood in the homes where the victims were discovered.

Dean sighed as he raised his hand to knock on the front door. Just as his hand was about to connect, the door swung open and Poppy stood there, momentarily stunned. Dean stopped his hand in the air and spread his fingers in an awkward wave.

"Hey there."

No longer stunned, Poppy clicked her tongue and glared at him. "So they let you out already? Did you become someone's bitch?"

"No, I shanked the warden with my toothbrush and made a run for it." Her eyes widened considerably and she took a step back. Dean put both hands up in mock surrender. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Too soon?"

"I'm calling the police-"

"No wait! You don't want to do that."

She braced her arm on the door, ready to slam it the moment he took a single step forward, "And why not?"

"Because I'm here to help."

"You expect me to believe that? I know nothing about you. You snuck into my house last night for God knows what reason and you expect me to trust anything that you have to say? Get off my property before I have you arrested."

He laughed a deep, throaty laugh. "Hate to burst your bubble but been there, done that."

The door slammed inches from his face.

"You know, a more sensitive guy than me might start taking all this rejection personally!"

* * *

Three days had passed just in that same manner. Dean would wait outside her house, knock on the door, get rejected, and become resolved to try again the next day. He noticed that she had become more accustomed to their interactions as well. There were more witty jabs on her part and occasionally he could swear he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips just before she slammed the door shut. He had asked around the town and learned that the girl's name was Penelope, affectionately called "Poppy" by just about everyone.

On the fourth day she had the door open and ready when he pulled up in front of her house, but there was no trace of a smile on her face. Her face was incredibly pale, just like when he had first seen her in the hospital room.

"Dean…." Her voice cracked and he stopped in the middle of the thin walkway leading up to her door. "You…Why did you come to my house that night?"

His brow furrowed. They were back where they had started. "Penelope-"

"No! Tell me right now. What were you doing here?"

"Did something happen?"

Poppy was shaking, but managed a tiny nod. She pulled out a piece of paper crumpled in her pocket and held it out to him. Taking it from her unsteady hands he examined the paper intently. This wasn't good. The paper was a photograph of the late Mr. and Mrs. Miller. There was a large red X through the center and a name written in bright red letters:

_Dean Winchester_.


End file.
